


Mirage

by ToasterFork



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Horror, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Psychological Horror, Short, Short Story, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 11:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13716753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasterFork/pseuds/ToasterFork
Summary: This is another thing I did a while back for Halloween and if I'm being honest, I'm not really proud of it. I think I still like the idea though. It's about a Venezuelan Parisian Singer/Musician Séphora Arce living in (fictional) Luciance, a peninsula country under the "religion" of Gibriaili (also fictional). It takes place in 1972. The story starts when she decides to branch off her younger franchise of song and become more professional in her occupation.Tl;dr: Wooooahhh some musician in the 70s???? Also horror?? LOL??





	Mirage

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER, If I am offending you with the way I incorporated religion please tell me so I can change some things. I am not trying to view Christianity in a dark demeanor, nor do I consider how I depict the church as my literal take on it. I have separately created a "Cult" based on anything but the actual morale of Christianity. This is not a real sect, it is made up. I do not know much about Christianity so if you can give info on anything I might get wrong please tell me so I can learn.

Mirage. That was her name. Instantaneously from the shimmering jumper she wore on the stage and the deeply extravagant and intense eyes she bore you could tell. She was a star. She walked down the lustrous black-silver ground and flaunted her bass.

Séphora Arce, the Venezuelan-Parisian musician strummed her Punk Rock-Jazz mesh, ambiguously glancing across and over the areas. This was her domain, her _world_. She looked down with her dark eyes. Those eyes which were too dark to see through. Those muddy, obscure eyes, which, in turn, therapeutically and smoothly crossed into slits as she gazed down at the ground solemnly, barely moving her standpoint.

 

October 14th, 1972. Clumps and tufts of hair streamed down to the turquoise carpeted floor. Séph, sprawling her hands in an awkward grasp around her silver scissors continued clipping off the sections of strands, although slightly unevenly and shakily. Magazines and books piled up on her dresser, the mirror upon it gleaming as the crisp light that had slithered through her ever-so-opened window scattered in her room. She had read earlier that during the era of samurai they would cut off the top-knot in their hair after being unemployed and thus, as they were forbidden to work in other fields, they would starve. She had read that it symbolizes the fall of their social status. But then she read that in Japan, a woman chopping off her hair symbolized a turning point. A cut from the past. A new person. This was in fact true for her, and she had thought it that it was so too, but not only did it fit for her to be cutting her hair and to be transforming into a _New Person_ but also her fall of social status. Today, as Séph thought, marked the end of her youth. It was veritable that she once had her old band, _S.U.G.A.R_ dismember back in 1966, but this was different. That was _teenager_ , that was _rebellious_ , _edgy_ even back then. Now she was 22 and she was professionally marked as a musician. Not only that but she felt her status dropped too. She was unemployed and thrown out of the glorious title of being: _“Mirage, pop and punk idol!”_ True, people were angry. Many were actually. Her manager, her producer, colleagues, and friends, but this was her choice, and hers alone. She scraped through all the advertising, filler, church items, other pages, and flipped back to her. _Séphora Arce, Mirage_. Reminiscing through the photo shoot she sighed and looked back at the dulcetly edited picture. Her head felt light after cutting the hair. Backing off to her other tables she fed Pepper and Jade, her geckos, and finally managed to sling on her bag and make it out to the fresh air of outside.

 

Jobs were pretty hard to find, she thought, except for at the church, which was like so for many years since the national religion switched to Gibriaili. She had two appointments for interviews: one, for an event and the other for the church orchestra. Even though she would much rather be favoring the event, the cash that the orchestral job offered her was too tempting.

 

A bit later Séph stood in front of the illustriously grandiose church. Clinks followed and traced each one of her steps, resounding around the hollow, glossy hallways.

“Bit worldly, huh.” She snarkily remarked aloud. “I don’t know about that. The hall you probably need to be in is the left one. Room 43 are where most interviews are held.”

“Oh, uhh right.” Séph fumbled, trying to brush off the sudden interaction and make her way around the walls.

 

Dewey candles dropped down into their holders. She clunked open the doors and walked in. A man filing some parchments and sheets sat in a mahogany desk, the walls around complementing it with it’s dulling minty hue. Pausing, he raised his finger to speak. “Ms. Arce? You’re up in five minutes.” His voice was monotonous and barely wavered. She nodded in acceptance and sat down onto the scarlet, velvety cushions of the chair available. Careful not to fidget as much to cause a commotion, she waited patiently until it was time.

 

“Soooo, in review, _Ms. Mirage_ , you say you've got the skills to do this job? You're more than qualified as well… Overqualified?!”

“No, no, definitely not!” Séph nervously added, although true it was that she wasn’t. “Oh, and it’s not Mirage anymore.”  

“I was just joshing around, heh.” The interviewer chuckled. He wrote in some scribbles and firmly grasped her hand to shake it. “Okay, so, you'll hear a call from us uhh… Tomorrow, let's say?” He flicked a red marker from a packet and placed it in his planner.

“Thank you,” Séph started, gathering her items. “I'll be coming back soon?”

“Heh, yeah, we’ll sure hope you do!” More chortles approached as they both parted. “Bye, _Ms. Mirage_!”

  
  


October 15th. Séph had awaited almost all day for that one call. Just for a ring to give her closure. A pass or a fail. She sorrowfully looked down at her watch, sipping some tea. A sudden rambunctious array of rings appeared. As quickly as she could, she grasped onto her telephone and listened. “This is Séphora Arce, how may I help you?”

“Ah, _Ms. Mirage_ , I’m just here to tell you that you got the job. Will you be able to arrive soon so we can explain what you need to do?”

She keenly sat up. “Yes, of course! I’ll be there in around half an hour.”

 

She slipped on her boots and began to run to the nearest bus in the rain. The cobbly sidewalks were completely drenched in water. Then, whilst arriving at the church she slowed her pace and walked into the room that she had this time marked down where she needed to be in.

 

“Ah, so as you know your job here is to produce music for our special event. It will be an orchestra and you will be working with others...” Seph listened on as he continued explaining the events in which would take place.

 

She wasn’t that experienced working with orchestras much but she knew that she’ll somehow figure it out. She was desperate for the job.

  
  


October 30th. It was one more day before the event. Seph found it a bit weird for it to take place on halloween, which, was known as the devil’s day across the town, but she brushed it off. A bit odd for it to be the one day most citizens would stay in for. She had already produced the music and only had to attend all the rehearsals. Today was the last day she had to get to it.

  
  


October 31st. Today was the day. It was finally time for the performance. The conductor stood silently, scanning the players. He brought up his baton and began. She hummed along and watched as the people around her smiled and listened on with contentedness.

After a few pieces, some composed by Séph, some by others, and some just classical, the intermission had begun. While she was navigating through the clusters of people she caught a glimpse of a back room. Something about it felt out of place. Something unnatural. Séph continued on over to the door, tracing her fingertips upon the handle and then opened it.

 

Lurching back, utter horror filled Séph as she watched the blood drip down to her feet. She screamed but it was barely noticeable. Stepping back in a fright, she watched as the hellish and grotesque scene unraveled before her. A man, wearing a mask and holding a dagger looked back at her, placing the mangled and distorted parts to the side next to an opened body. “Ah, _Ms. Mirage_. How’s the show been going?” She tried to question but no words would come out. She looked around desperately to find someway out. “I-It’s not Mirage!” She slammed the door back shut, now smeared with red around the cracks of the it, and frantically went over to anyone, someone, for help. No one had a clue. No one believed her. She rushed over to the police only to find that they wouldn’t listen.

 

_What was happening? Why was this happening?_

 

Séph couldn’t tell what was going on anymore. Was she having a nightmare? The only place left for her to go was back to her flat. She tried calling her parents but they were out. Staring into the mirror she felt something sink in her, as if any emotion of helplessness or stress had dropped down to stagnant _fear_.

 

Her _hair_ . Her _hair_ was _longer_ than it was that morning. In fact much longer. Like before she cut it. Ringing came along but she was too afraid to comprehend what was going on.

 

It persisted. The calls. Until Séph mustered herself enough sanity to pick it up. “Who is this..?” Her words croaked.

“Oh _Mirage_! You weren’t here at the studio today were you? Are you sick today? Next time call us.”

“Wh-What do you mean? I’m not Mirage.”

“What kind of joke are you playing now? You’re _Mirage_ , _pop and punk idol_!”

“I’m not Mirage! I’m Séph!”

The voice across the phone started to feel faltered and stirring.

“Stop acting so weird. Come back to the studio later.” She dropped down the telephone as the piercing noise climbed through her ears.

 

_What was going on?_

 

Seph had no clue. Her head whirred  until she decided to go back to the church. When she arrived the lights were all dimmed.

“ _Ms. Mirage, you’re probably wondering what’s going on, right?”_  The sounds of more than just the man rumbled through.

 

_This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare. This can’t be real._

 

“ _Welcome to your personal hell, Ms. Mirage!”_

Cackles filled the place. “No, what happened? I’m not Mirage!”

“ _That’s not what the people think. Maybe you’re not Mirage, but she is._ ”

 

In front a stage had appeared, with crystal blue and purple lighting. She was there. Mirage. Her bass in her hands. Strumming it in a way eerily familiar to Séph. A flash of red gruesomely fell on her face.

 

“No, no, no! No!” Séph’s declines turned to sorrowful shrieks. _That wasn't me. She wasn't me. It couldn't be._

 

She ran to the streets hoping someone would have an answer but to her terror everything was disoriented into a swirling, chaotic mess. The atmosphere, tinted red and dark crawled up her skin as she shivered and called for help.

 

“ _You're dead Séph.._ ”

 

Blood dripped down from the crevices and corners of the streets. Séph broke down and clenched her fists until the knuckles painted white.

 

_It's a nightmare. It's a nightmare._

 

_“And you’re the murderer.”_

 

“No, it can't be… I'm not Mirage! She's not me!” Séph broke into tears as people passed around her in the streets.

“Why?”

 

Mirage. She was there. Standing above her. She pulled up her sharply shimmering bass and swung it down at Séph. She screamed and ran across the roads, barely getting away from the roaring cars passing by. Her eyes pierced deeply inside of Séph.

 

“ _This is your fate. This is your domain. This is your world. This is your hell.”_


End file.
